Security Blanket
by xUnsubsidingInsanity
Summary: Reviews appreciated. Gaz has been observing our friend, Zim, who discovered his "mission" was but a sham. Zim has taken on quite a different persona on such occasion and Gaz is keeping a journal of her observasions of Zim's whereabouts and behavior.
1. Confusion's Friendly Curse

**Security Blanket**

Dear Die-ary,

I am assigned to write in your worthless, flimsy pages for Mr. Dwicky in hopes to elude summer school. Luckily, he says he will not read this junk and I'll get a decent grade just for writing in this - this girly, pointless medium. So here goes:

____

Sunday, September 28th

Today is Sunday, which means tomorrow is Monday. Monday means back to school. _Oh, what fun! I can't wait. _**Not. **The tests on ephemeral knowledge, the filthy textbooks, nose-picking children, and dreadful teachers that just drone on about their shattered dreams… I'll pass. Invariably, anyway. Can't skip or game during class anymore or else Dad'll have a conniption. Not that he really cares. Why should he? He's successful enough for the both of us. As you may be able to tell, I do not want to attend, the only thing I want to level up in is Ninja Weasels III, but I must go because, believe it or not, I wanna see if Zim is okay. It's not like I've a thing for him; I just need some sort of inspiration for this dirty notebook. There's only so much one can say about the latest in Game Slave technology. He's been acting weird - weirder than normal, I should say. I mean the kid wears a dress and has random outbursts concerning his "humanly innocence" on a daily basis. As of late, he's not the cocky, robust pistachio-colored alien my crazy brother, Dib, stalks like a rabies-bitten bloodhound. He's… more human, actually.

It's been one whole week since I last saw Zim. Pretty astonishing considering he and Dib are usually at each other's throats 24/7. Not the case since last Sunday. That wasn't my most favorite experience either. We have that in common, I guess. He was so sad roving around his front lawn, a look so empty and directionless in his eyes that made me sad for him. I didn't know I could even feel emotion. Not since Mom left us. Maybe because Zim's also a freak, I pity him. Though I like to believe my enigmatic identity is more consensual. I mean I could just throw on a less threatening outfit and chuckle at things less callous and look totally normal - like all the other teenagers. A kid with no ears and a "skin condition" and more than a little guilt complex has a harder time maintaining that, I'd imagine. Aw, man! I'm losing my edge, right? Oh, well, no one's here to hear it. Thinking about Mom always does that to me, softens me. Her birthday's coming up soon…

Screw it! It's just going to make me sadder knowing she'll not be here with her family for it. I'm going to hope for the best. Unlike me, yes, but so have a lot of things become to me lately. I realize one can't stay the same, apathetic, forever. It doesn't have to appear that way on the exterior though. After some time and I'll shed some of these melancholy entrails. Just not yet. The best being that perhaps Mom will show up for her birthday after four years of absences, maybe Zim will be around school tomorrow, more narcissistic than ever before, freaking being himself, unlike I can be after all these horrible changes that just plain suck. Then, things can abate to how they used to be, all not right but adequate with the world. I'm going to take off my makeup, superficially, and shut my eyes, go to bed early in hopes of obtaining this blissful fantasy in my dreams or in the next daybreak. It's only 8:15. I don't care. What else is new?

Well, that didn't work so smoothly and now it's 10:38. I've managed to slaughter two mere hours. Now I can't sleep and I'm frustrated - frustrated, always frustrated - with nothing at all and it drives me madder than before. The morning seems so goddamn far away. I punched my pillow because I felt like it, because it kept me from getting grounded for doing the same to Dib. Meanwhile, the dreams that'd lilted though my eyelids materialized once more. Zim, I'd dreamt about Zim. Of course! Another target to imagine pulverizing in this rage. But no… The seeds were still sprouting in my brain. It wasn't a violent dreamscape I'd mustered up five minutes before. It was- it was… good, a mundane type of good, happy even. The Irken boy, he was his naïve, arrogant, silly self. Now atop a long and sullied lunch table at school, screeching, "Ordinary! Believe it, human child, I'm normal!" after undeniably doing something that wasn't, and trying to cover up whatever stupid thing he did.

I ceased with my blows, the lithe fabric of my bedding at ease again, my shoulders the same, sunken. I leaked, spewed tears uncontrollably. "What's wrong with me?" I shouted to no one but this girl I didn't recognize. Why should not I be happy? I'm so much better off than other people all across this blue and green globe. I have shelter - better than that, I live in the city - I have a father with a steady income, I've an incredibly smart (but annoying) brother, electronics and batteries for them, I've my wits (though it's in question), health and strength… Yet here I teeter, I seethe and I crumble in simulated, self-inflicted purgatory! The former, it's all great, magnificent, and undervalued. I'd even clasped a few minutes of Zim's happiness, physically felt and so much as beamed before I caught myself lying to me as if I had another half conspiring against me, painting lovely pictures as the illuminati do! I'd dreamed of Zim being he and all, but unfortunately I had to wake up to the nightmarish reality, that he is not himself right now. Nor am I, and the parallel is uncanny. Perhaps picked out in the stars, with purpose like the ones that shimmer above the roof over my head.


	2. Another Day, Another Doommonger

**Security Blanket**

_Monday, September 29th_

The galaxy, how infinite and diverse a spectrum of beings, I'm just an ant, a lowly, depressed creepy-crawly; I pondered during the lunch hour and as jubilant children trotted and skipped to their puerile games of kickball and hopscotch. Might be nice, I thought, and instantaneously kicked a pile of mud, its little rocks and gook splattering across the pavement. Too damn shy, that's what I am unless I'm angry. Anguish doesn't make friends. And if it does, it's not a cult I'd like to follow. (Leader might be a nice position for me though…) I mean I'm above those stupid, immature sports, but that's not the point. They're conversing, those kids are having a good time, not even screaming or punching one another. If someone approached me, my doppelganger, more interested in the virtual worlds of fun and competition then perhaps a smile or two could be rendered out of me. The only one I know that half meets that criteria is that loser/lunatic Iggins. I mean what kind of name is that? Anyway…

I went into the grimy cafeteria, not to order any slop, but to see what was going on in there. Perhaps by luck there was some new, lonely kid in a corner collecting cybernetic coins on his Game Slave just begging to get whopped by another player. A glance around the ugly panorama and nope, not today. A too-giddy lunch lady spilled over a rack of food supplies upon turning. At first, I was annoyed by the slimy smudges the veggies left on my boot, but when wiping it up with a fresh napkin for some crazy reason the smashed peas reminded me of a certain foreign boy. It was his hue after all. This time, I strolled around in search of the Irken child. He could be entertaining at times with his wild, convoluted antics and spastic sputtering. No sign in there. Just out of curiosity I checked a janitor's closet. It was a space where evil, human-destroying plots could hatch, right? Not there either. Oh, well, off to unplug my Game Slave 2 from the charger now. (I said I couldn't play in school anymore, due to my grades, but that doesn't mean I can't revitalize the system up secretly in Mr. Meaner's biology class for the bus ride home.)

Two hours later, bored out of my mind, every level beaten thrice in Vampire Piggy Hunter and I was left to my own devices, school done, Dib and Dad out fulfilling their respective research. What to do, what to do, I thought to myself, sprawled out on my bed, kicking my feet in the air. I pulled myself from such a lounge, shrugging into my purple hoodie and zipped it up. I took myself around the block twice, listening to Nine Inch Heels on my GS2 to squander some time before stopping just short of my house, right at my eccentric neighbor's. I peeked briefly around the corner of his fence until I saw Zim carrying a few boxes outside. My curiosity was set aflame as a funeral pyre. "Gir, stop slacking, will you! Heh? Do you hear music coming from somewhere? Investigate!" the blue-eyed boy shouted to his poorly disguised robot companion, dropping the pastel pink boxes from his gloved hands.

"Oh, crap!" I scolded myself in a whisper, scouring for the pause button on the gaming/mp3 device. I pulled the hoodie over my face and pushed in my headphones as to look ignorant.

"Gir, watchdog mode! Ah, what's the point? Useless SIR unit…"

Zim patrolled the plot of his front lawn theatrically as I leaned to his fence. If I skirted across the street or the gap in posts there's no doubt in my mind he'll catch me spying.

Too late.

Swiveling his head briskly to the outer right side of the fence, he proclaimed, "Earth girl, what brings you to my glorious domain? Can you not see that you're trespassing on my property?"

I just smirked. He was so unthreatening it hurt to look at his practiced combat stances and slouched demeanor. No one can win a fight looking like that.

"Nu-uh! I'm on the sidewalk, which is public property, Zim. You'd know that if you paid a little less attention to yourself," I teased.

He snorted irritably, an eyelid quivered; his jaw clenched though his fists loosened.

"Scary human, I knew that. I was just making sure you knew your place, is all. Why not gawk at such a beautiful creation as I? I-"

"I? Since when don't you refer to yourself in third person? It's always 'Zim is this' or 'Zim is that,'" I corrected, arms folded like dish towels.

I had him cornered now. His mouth dropped and he stuttered.

"I-I- I mean Zim, he… Nevermind, pathetic child, _Zim_ has elsewhere to banter… or something. Run along now."

He tried to wave me off, the pompous jerk. I ignored him.

"What's that behind your back?" I inquired.

The extra "special" extraterrestrial shuffled from side to side, failing at evading suspicion.

"Nothing! I- Erm, Zim knows not of what you speak. Just go on and p-"

I walked leisurely beside him and picked up one of the thin, steel boxes much to his dismay.

"What's this?" I asked smugly, running a hand across the top.

To an outside viewer, one oblivious to Zim's pernicious (though often foiled) dealings, who might think it were nothing more than a box filled with chocolates for his girlfriend or mother.

I did not belong to such a group.


	3. The Secret Affair Begins

****

Security Blanket

"It's nothing, nothing at all! Put it down now or I'll- I'll… I don't know… don't know much of anything anymore," Zim said solemnly towards the end, going from crying murder to murmur.

Sensing that I truly was overstepping a boundary, I backed off, covered up my intentions, my fellow feeling, for I'd never heard Zim sound so sincere, so out of character.

It deserved some respect, even from me.

"Whatever! I don't want to know what's in that stupid, smelly box anyway!" I shrieked in a manner I might normally have. (There's that word again: Normal.)

Stalking off his stomping ground, I looked back.

He looked unmoved, as though he'd not heard a peep from me since last he spoke. He was frozen so deeply I thought he'd malfunctioned, or whatever it is Irken creatures do.

I decided that I'd wait until he responded, continued on what he was doing, and I was back in my house, fooling the alien of my alibi, so I could find out what mystical instruments may lie in those pink contraptions. Perhaps it was something I even wanted. An ultra-high-tech video game console from another universe? A machine that could make Dib my groveling slave and for once not hog the TV the night _Mysterious Mysteries _is on? Now it wasn't just about Zim. It was that someone was trying to control me, keep me from doing what I wanted. The time being, my desire was to unmask his secret.

So, I gazed out my window no sooner than ten minutes later to catch just the end of his trance. He snapped back into his typical military march and grabbed Gir by the collar, dragging his immobile body through the grass with an intriguing look chiseled into his features. The jade boy's chin was thrust heavenward and he had all the makings of a dictator with his insolent aura and suave gear save for the eyes. They were mismatched, deceiving in a way that wasn't intended. The ruddy ovals seemed glazed over, so much as dubious. Yet still the goose-stepping progressed down the sidewalk, moot boxes in tact.

"Hey, Gaz! Have you seen my paranormal night vision goggles lately? I think I've spotted a real chupacabra this time and not the raccoons wallowing in our garbage like last week! I know I left them somewhere around here," came the bleat voice of my older brother. "Hey, whatcha lookin' at?" Dib continued to probe inanely.

"Get. Out. Of. My room," I said with the charity of a snake.

"Gesh, Gaz, I was just wondering where- What're you so focused on anyway?"

Dib, my drooling buffoon of a brother, took the liberty of peering through my blinds.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Zim, you've been looking at Zim? Don't tell me you've developed a sort of crush on that galactic scum all of a sudden? I wonder what he's up to…," he said, shocked, then perplexed and utterly transfixed on his prey's motions.

"I was looking at the bats that fly around at this time, geek-breath!" I yelled, turning red with rage and embarrassment. What does he know about anything?

"Oh, well, then maybe we could see what vile crimes he's c-"

"OUT!" I interrupted, not allowing him the time to cajole and encroach on my time.

I kicked him swiftly between the legs, sending him toppling backward in pain, slamming the amethyst colored door behind him.

"Ow! Dad, Gaz has gone psycho again!" he tattled shamelessly to my father.

"And I don't want to go on any harebrained pseudoscience adventures with you, Dib!" I called cruelly back from behind the locked door, turning my attention from the Hello Batty poster tapped hastily to the door to my mission, which was to sneak out through the window with my journal and flashlight.

Taking the time to cool down, for things around the house to settle to a simmer, I worked up the courage to descend the side of the Membrane house with a rope fastened out of old blankets and doll hair.

I needed some fresh air, the sight of the twinkling stars to gaze longingly at, a catalyst of some sort to counteract the emotional toll of my fits.

Somewhere, up there, my mother must look down on me, out for me, despite the broken branch in our family tree; I recited in the sanctity of my mind as I always did when I got the chance or made the room for such a near pointless mantra.

Sighing and rubbing my hands together on this cold evening, I delved into the approaching darkness with the conviction I'd have something worthwhile to report when I returned.

Met with the harsh breeze of the night and the symphony of dog howls to accompany me along for the trek, I must've skulked at least two miles. All the while, Zim's toupee-clad head bobbing a block further from me, completely indifferent to my presence or any passerby really. It took him the best part of an hour to turn toward an abandoned, weed-chocked park that once did pretty well some twenty years ago; one currently deserted of scampering toddlers to infest the rusty and dangerous, crushed metal of playgrounds, without a soul to set sail in its stream or picnic under the decayed trees that line the cracked path like the teeth of some hellish beast. The street lamps had even discarded this wasteland fifteen minutes ago. All that these grounds held now were three outcasts, a cacophony of crows and the ever-present insects still within the lofty, wrought iron gates.


End file.
